Musings and meanderings... personal reflections... electronic pulpit... memos to the world and especially to those I love.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

RAINY DAY AT THE BEACH

It’s not common hereabouts but usually well tolerated. Starting with a noticeable change in the air—which becomes cooler--with over-cast sky; the lavender, violet clouds merge into purple, with blacker edges here and there, serving to urge rain-people to walk out-of-doors.

It began with ...

a .

and a drop

and more drops

walking with wet faces

can be fun, with smell of

steamy wood, wet grass; even

damp dust from rainless days, is

fragrant. Now raindrops are falling,

falling on our heads—and all over this

land. Northern winds picking up speedy

delivery--rain commands its own perform-ance—the choice to endure rain is not our own choice to make. Big wet splashes are leaping up, up

from the street and filling the bay; looking more and more

like a regular gulley-washer now—the sort of rain only a

fool would not have brains enough to come in out of, at

once. Through windy coal-black sky and hills, the

soughing of wind and shriek of flailing, drenched limbs are

eerie, like the cry of poor damned souls. Overhead are

plumed branches, leaves and fronds thrashing, lashing,

and cracking loudly, wildly; heard amid the strange thick

darkness the bones of ancient dead warriors must come

alive—with Ezekiel the end-times witness, and the clash

and roar of warring armies—deafening rumbles and

groans, flashes of lightning. God bless all the sailors out at

sea in ships today, and all those souls on land, too. Signs

appear now in the sky, signs of further change—but

welcome sun rays break through and reveal the sloshed,

glossy-wet trees, now bathed in tints of warm amber-

greens and bronzes, starkly limned against the cold, grey-

black thunder-heads still looming above the churning

bay—contrast in lurid color and light. A fantastically

colorful rainbow arcs dramatically across the heavens—a

promise; the rain goes away as it came, from buckets-full,

to dribblesto dropsto dripsto.s

And the land is new-wet and reborn, for a short time at least, the way the Lord first made it, the way He must have looked at it, and saw that it was good. So clean it smells good, feels good and everyone forgets--even little two-foot-high runaways splashing through lingering puddles in their best shoes and stockings--forget the darkness and revel in the heavenly light.